I grew up with Alanis 
Jagged Little Pill was one of the first albums I ever owned
And seeing her live
For the first time 
Was exhilarating and touching and strange 
It wasn’t just Present Me
Standing in the middle of the crowd
In this vast venue in London
 
It was thirteen year old me
Standing in the large school hall
Singing “Hand in my Pocket” 
And my classmates laughing because I couldn’t swear
And because it was so incredibly, painfully, obvious that I would never, ever, flick a cigarette 
I think it was one of the first times I had ever sung solo
And the lady who had asked me to sing was so encouraging
I went home and re-listened to Jagged Little Pill to see what else I could learn 
 
It was twenty-something year old me
Standing in the practise rooms above the Student Union
And channelling my anger at my ex
So I could sing “You Oughta Know” 
I knew the song well by then
But the lyrics meant more
 
It was twenty-something year old me 
Walking the Camino
And re-calling that Alanis had done some sort of pilgrimage to India 
And had then released Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie 
And listening to it again 
And as I walked 
“Thank u” resonated
And it changed the entire outlook on my life 
 
It was teenage me 
Watching Dogma and seeing Alanis play God
(Controversial because in Christianity, God is always a He) 
And realizing for the first time
God could be female 
 
And then present day me
With all these memories
From time and space almost forgotten 
Standing there surrounded by strangers
And Alanis
As gorgeous and talented as I’d hoped she’d be 
 
But with a twist
This feminine rock chick with biting lyrics and a fierce sound 
Had stage fright.
She barely looked at the audience for the first
two songs
She roamed around the stage
Her amazing hair swishing behind her 
She settled in though
And from the beginning her voice 
Was even more powerful than I thought
Her belt is phenomenal
She didn’t talk between songs
But she would bow to the band members
And call out thank you to the audience
 
She started out with Woman Down 
A call for an end to misogyny 
And throughout the night played 
guardian, receive, all I really want, you oughta know, hand in my pocket, you learn, head over feet, mary jane, ironic, and uninvited. 
The crowd knew every word
We laughed when she updated the lyrics - 
"It's like meeting the man of your
dreams
And meeting his husband". 
 
But the highlight
Was the acapella hidden track from Jagged Little Pill
It was almost divine it was so moving
Still as raw and gut wrenching as it was eighteen years ago
I’ve never been brave/stupid enough to walk into an ex’s house
And lie in his bed and cry all afternoon
But I have dreamt it 
In the dream I walked through his house 
Smelt his cologne 
And both in sleep and awake 
I have sobbed
 
And through it all 
Alanis. 
With her own highs and lows and journies and quests
For forgiveness 
For peace 
For love
For life.
 
The end. 

Careful the things you say,
Children will listen.
Grown-ups too.
Everytime you say something
Someone is listening
And whether you think it or not,
Someone is taking that thing you said
On board.
Even the most fleeting moment,
Like someone calling you a bitch
A little joke, something meant to be funny,
Can sting
Resonate for hours afterwards.
Make you question, wonder, feel small. 

Like the time, seventeen years ago,
When they were doing school photos,
And you sat down, and turned to the photographer
And smiled
And someone in your class yelled out, derisively,
“You’re such a goodie goodie!”.
And you chose to ignore it
Pretend you hadn’t heard
But it still hurt you.
All you had done was sat down.
Or the time, a year or so after the photo incident, 
That girl stole your lunchbox
For no reason, other than to take it
To make fun.
And it made you burn.
And you got up. And took back your lunchbox.
And ate your sandwich or whatever was for lunch that day, and 
Pretended like it never happened.
Because you didn’t want to make a fuss.
 
Or the time, at the height (depth?) of your depression
And you had finally, for the first time in years,
Gotten up and made yourself go for a run,
And you were running down the hill
And a random, perfect stranger said,
“Stop trying, you’re only running down-hill”
And you kept running
Pretended like you hadn’t heard
But you thought,
“F*** You!! Do you know what it took for me to be running?!”
 
Or the time, much later, 
When your own flesh and blood says,
“I’m disowning you, because you traveled unmarried with your boyfriend”, 
And it stings because you don’t feel that that is wrong.
And you get to a point
When you’re in your late twenties
And you’re sick of people being assholes for no good reason.
And you just want to turn around and say like Kate Monster,
“Why can’t people just love each other and get along?”
 
And you take a deep breath.
And you try to remember to not be nasty,
To be a force for good in the world
And say nice things,
And hope it makes a difference
To the one person
Who might be listening.
 
The end. 

So, you move half-way across the world
To be in theatre
And drama school is over and
You find yourself... temping.
Answering phones, writing emails 
Being part of the corporate cog
“Good morning, [insert company name]. One moment please-”
Transferring the call to persons unknown somewhere else in the building
And, for a bit, it was kind of fun. 
Seeing the insides of buildings across London
Meeting new people
A new job every day,
But it was also exhausting 
And a little depressing
So many people are just so unhappy
This daily slog. 
 
And one day you find yourself back in the theatre,
In front of house
And it was a job you did for seven years
Once upon a time ago.
And walking into your first shift
Even though it’s a whole lifetime/a world away/10,000 miles apart
It’s like coming home
 
The instant familiarity of it,
The rows of seats 
(A to H, no Row I so as not to confuse people, though this theatre has a Row O)
The smell of hazer
The smell of theatre dust. 
The instant friendship and family that theatre people become
The not insignificant army of people that make a show happen 
Consider before you’ve even sat in your seat
The book writer and composer and orchestrator and director and casting director and agents and actors and choreographer and musical director and musicians and designers and ops and builders and painters and dressers and stage managers and stage door persons and ushers and bar staff and theatre manager and a myriad of people have
Played their part
For the 7.30pm show start 
 
And the lights go dim
And you watch the audience watching the show
And, like Amelie who turns around in the movie theatre
To see the peoples faces,
You find a joy in watching their expressions
Observing their collective laughs and moments of surprise
And although you still want,
More than anything,
To be up on that stage,
For now, this is lovely.
Being paid to be part of it all
And knowing, at least you’re in your house
 
And this world
With its strange hours
And lack of sunlight
And legion of folk all trying to 
Make It
And the insistent dedication required to 
Make It Happen
Is the exact world you want to be in.
 
The end.